


i need to be strong (but you've made me weak)

by gayclubanthem



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, also there are a lot of references to love just aint enough by patty smyth, bc there's boy sex, did i mention that there's boy sex, like a truly disgusting amount of pining, mostly canon except for the timeline i guess, nick and louis get along sort of, there's a lot of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayclubanthem/pseuds/gayclubanthem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I was just wondering if you'd told him yet," Louis ponders and a sinking feeling settles low in Nick's abdomen.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"What're you on about?" he asks, wondering why his voice decides to waver when he clearly can't afford that kind of instability.  Louis lets out a short laugh, crystal blue eyes lighting up in a majorly concerning way.  There's a lump in Nick's throat but he fights to urge to swallow it.  No discomfort.  No weakness.</i>
</p>
<p><i>"Don't be a prat, Grimmy.  Have you told Harry you're arse over tits for him?" and </i>honestly<i>, why does Louis have to look so bloody delighted when Nick chokes on his own spit. </i></p>
<p>---</p>
<p>the one where nick gets asked to participate in 1d day round two, has a massive crush on his best mate, and really, truly hates american radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i need to be strong (but you've made me weak)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlwaysCourage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysCourage/gifts).



> aaaahhhhahaha i may or may not have been working on this fic since february 2014 and here we are. nearly 13k words of really self indulgent schmoop of the gryles variety. 
> 
> thank you to [danielle ](http://sleepyclemmings.tumblr.com)and [sarah](http://thatmakesyoumyequivalent.tumblr.com) for reading this five hundred times over whenever i sent them a new paragraph and putting up with me bringing this fic up every few months like "hey remember that time i was gonna write that gryles fic". 
> 
> also thank you to [fiellafan](http://fiellafan.tumblr.com) for britpicking this for me and being a generally lovely human. 
> 
> enjoy. :)
> 
> title from Powerless by Rudimental ft Becky Hill.

_But there's a danger to loving somebody too much, and it's sad when you know it's your heart you can't trust._

Nick barely suppresses the urge to sink into the soft leather seat like a toddler, instead turning his head to stare out at the passing scenery of Los Angeles. He feels full of angst in a disconcerting way he hasn't felt in ages. Part of him wishes Collett or Aimee were here to make fun of him, then things might feel a bit normal, but he's alone in the back seat of a sleek black car with tinted windows and the mean looking driver that had picked him up from LAX. 

He also hates Patty Smyth. And American radio. 

_There's a reason why people don't stay where they are. Baby, sometimes love just ain't enough._

"Do you mind turning that off?" he calls to the driver, trying for polite and meek but probably missing by a long shot. The man up front grunts and hits a button, plunging the car into a tense silence. Nick lets a long breath out through his nose and tries not to think too much about how massive the driver had seemed at the airport and how easily he could probably snap him clean in half.

That would make an interesting headline, he thinks. _Nick Grimshaw, English radio and television personality, split in two after asking driver to turn off the radio._

It's not that Nick doesn't want to be in L.A. He loves California, really. London is his home, but every now and then he can't protest a bit of sun and tan skin and honestly, his accent never goes unappreciated in America. So yeah, Nick doesn't mind a weekend holiday in L.A. What Nick minds is the nervous tug of anxiety making it's way through the soles of his feet and into his ankles and fingers and wrists and belly. His skin is crawling, forcing his hands to clench into tight balls, tension shivering across his shoulders. 

Shit, there's no way Nick's making it through the weekend. 

Nick forces his fists to slowly unwind and he folds them in his lap. He must look like a proper idiot, taking deep calming breaths in the back of a car when he's not even on his way to some big career altering event. He's on his way to spend approximately ten minutes talking with One Direction while they have another go at 1D Day. He's friends with these lads, would consider himself to be verging on best friends with Harry. With an inward pang, Nick thinks this would have been a thousand times less stress inducing if Fincham had just kept his mouth shut.

\---

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Matt asks, and really, it's not a question. Nick stares at him, headphones dangling from his neck as the first verse of the latest One Direction hit plays.

"Uh..." Nick manages, and Matt rolls his eyes in a way that has Nick bristling a bit. That's never a good sign.

"You're in love with Harry. It's not like you're subtle about it."

And really, Nick can't seem to catch up to the conversation. It's not like he spends too much time paying attention to what Matt says, that much is clear every time an after show meeting is called and Nick flees the building for a proper English spread the moment Fearne is on air. Meetings are boring though, and usually, Matt doesn't accuse him of being in love with a popstar. It's a lot to process at half seven in the morning. 

Fiona chooses that moment to enter the studio, a cup of steaming coffee in hand even though it's technically against the rules. Any other day and Nick would make some quip about it, but he ignores her in favor of fixing Matt with a raised eyebrow, hoping his face has managed to arrange itself into something that might suggest indifference.

"Not sure what you're on about," Nick says at last, slipping the headphones back on even though he still has a full minute before he needs to start the next link. Fiona slides into her chair and gives them both quizzical looks. 

"Did you ask him about Harry?" she questions Matt.

"Excuse me?" Nick exclaims. Matt has the courtesy to look somewhat sheepish, but Fiona, his sweet Fiona who... well, actually, is never on his side when the rest of the crew gang up on him--is unfazed. She levels him with a blank stare.

"What? It's not like you're subtle," she says with a small shrug. 

"That's what I said," Matt offers, unhelpfully. Closing his eyes, Nick barely suppresses the urge to sigh. He needs new producers.

Thankfully he's saved from answering them. On the air, Nick is proud of how steady he keeps his voice considering the thoughts tumbling through his mind, Matt and Fiona's words shaking something lose in his head that he can't seem to ignore. As the next song begins to play, his phone lights up with an incoming text.

_Love when you play our stuff . x_

And then Harry sends another text with a guitar emoji followed by a string of musical notes. Nick sends him back an invitation to dinner because Harry's got tour soon and he'll only be in London for a few more days. When Nick looks up, Matt and Fiona's gazes are knowing and the fond smile that had been gracing his lips falls into a slight grimace.

Fuck. 

\---

Nick isn't prepared for how good Harry looks. Theoretically, he knows Harry's only gotten more frustratingly gorgeous as the years pass, but Nick honestly can't remember the last time they had been face to face like this. Harry is waiting in the hallway when Nick pushes open the studio doors. He's not paying attention as the heavy door budges open under his hands. Actually, he's fretting over his luggage which the burly driver told him would be "taken care of" whatever that means. So when Nick finally looks up, he freezes.

Okay, yeah, Harry's eyes must have gotten greener. And they're shining as an enthusiastic and positively lethal grin shapes itself across those stupidly pink lips. Nick barely manages to catch his breath before Harry launches himself at Nick.

"Missed you," Harry mumbles in his ear, voice low and private. It takes a few strange moments before Nick's muscles relax into Harry's once familiar hold. In that time, he calculates the changes.

Harry isn't any taller, but his grip is firmer, more natural. A year ago, the boy was all new limbs he was still learning to control. His arms are bigger, too. Nick passes over that fact as quickly as his muddled mind can manage. Nick notices the massive quantity of hair in his face as well. He knew Harry was growing it out, but it's so much longer than Nick could have guessed from the pictures. It's unstyled now, still a bit damp at the ends like he's recently showered and it's falling everywhere in a mess of shiny chestnut waves. Nick decides he loves it. He's not sure it's the most fashionable hair style in the world, in fact, Harry looks a bit like he's walked straight out of a romance novel with his endless flowing locks, but it makes for a nice place for Nick to bury his nose and smells like clean citrus soap.

Harry doesn't let go for a long while, and Nick finds himself not minding at all. He hadn't realized how much he missed Harry, but now Nick doesn't feel particularly inclined to let him leave their embrace any time soon. Thinking back to Matt and Fiona's knowing looks, however, Nick forces himself to pull away, palms smoothing over Harry's shoulders that are definitely more broad than Nick remembers.

"Really missed you," Harry says, smile softer now but eyes still shining like giant beacons of affection.

"Suppose I missed you too, popstar. Used to see you all the time. Couldn't get rid of you," Nick replies. Harry gives a small shrug and runs his fingers through his hair (and no, Nick absolutely doesn't stare at the wideness of the back of Harry's palm).

"Dunno, we were both busy, I guess. You must've missed my texts or something," he mumbles, and Nick feels it when Harry takes a few steps back. Missed them, yes. That's absolutely what happened. Definitely not the alternative that involved Nick staring helplessly at his phone in one hand and an overflowing glass of wine in the other, wondering how he was supposed to reply to Harry's messages without suggesting that they spend the entirety of Harry's next break snogging. Honestly, Nick is getting a bit tired of the way his chest seems too small for his lungs, especially when Harry let's his eyes fall from Nick's face to the rest of his body, wrapped up in his favorite traveling jeans and the first loose t-shirt he could find that wasn't packed away. It'd be really nice to take in a proper breath, full and deep and calming. Instead, Nick is stuck feeling a bit lightheaded as Harry reaches out and wraps his hand around Nick's wrist, tugging him down the hall.

"Where are the other popstars? Finchy asked me to take a selfie with Niall for him," Nick asks, resolutely not paying attention to the low heat that curls in his belly when Harry's fingers slacken a little, only to fold neatly into Nick's open palm. 

"Dressing room, probably. I'll take you to yours and put the kettle on if that's alright," and Harry isn't really asking, but he doesn't have to. Nick just prays he doesn't spill anything with how tense he's feeling. 

They pass by an open door where the unmistakable sound of Niall's laughter rings out and Harry sticks his head in to tell the boys Nick's arrived. Nick shouts out his hello and receives three "Hi, Grimmy!"s and one "Hiya, Grim-twat!" in a sharp tone that's clearly Louis. Despite all the rumors about them, Nick and Louis get on well enough. Sure, they haven't yet managed a conversation that didn't involve backhanded compliments and barbed jabs, but Nick's pretty sure it's all in good fun, and if it's not, at least Louis has the decency to pretend for Harry's sake. Nick snakes an arm over Harry's (fuck, really massive) shoulders to wave at disembodied voices before Harry's tugging him around another corner and to another door, closed this time, a piece of printer paper with his name taped to it. 

"How much time before rehearsal?" Nick asks, because it occurs to him then that he's not actually sure what's going on. His agent is notorious for being vague when sending Nick off to do things outside of his normal gig. 

"We've been on and off all day, so whenever they call us, I guess. Think they're fixing up some lights now," Harry replies, opening the door and holding it for Nick before crashing on the plush looking sofa pressed against the far wall. It's a pretty nice dressing room considering some of the places Nick's been to, complete with a large counter below a massive mirror ringed with bright lights. There's a table on the wall to his left with fruits and vegetables and an assortment of sandwiches with a cooler of water underneath. It's more food than he needs, but Nick would never complain about being pampered. Nick spots the electric kettle on the table surrounded by three boxes of assorted teas. _Honestly,_ Nick thinks, _I should do more promo work with One Direction._

Despite Harry's promise to make tea, Nick fills the kettle himself and flips the switch. Harry has sprawled himself across the entire sofa, head resting on one side with his arms falling over his face and legs dangling off the other end. He might be sleeping; Nick wouldn't be surprised. It isn't until Harry heaves out a heavy sigh that Nick realizes that he's actually awake and, well... broody.

"You alright?" Nick tries, finding a row of mugs with the studio logo printed across the side and pulling two out, getting the teabags ready while the water begins to boil. He glances over at Harry just as he gives a shrug, arms falling away until one hand is dragging across the floor and the other is grazing the wall. 

"Dunno, like... it's been a long day," Harry mumbles. "And you're being weird, I think. Something feels weird and it's never like that for us."

The kettle's switch flips, the little _pop_ louder than absolutely necessary in the thick silence. Nick busies himself with filling the mugs with steaming water.

"Think it's just in your head," Nick says at last, carrying the mugs over to the coffee table before nudging Harry's obnoxiously long legs out of the way so he can fall into the far end of the sofa. Harry sits up halfway, boots cutting into Nick's thighs, and he's wearing a small frown and crinkled forehead. 

"Maybe," he mumbles, taking his tea and wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic. He offers Nick a shrug. "Like, I guess I've just been worried you're sick of me or something. You don't text as much."

Nick mentally curses himself. It's not like he's intentionally been ignoring Harry or anything, he just... well. So, okay, he's been half avoiding Harry. Mostly because he's terrified Harry's going to send something so classically "Harry" and Nick will momentarily go brain dead and text back something stupid like _I'm really sort of completely in love with you please have my babies_. Nick pushes Harry's feet off of him and opens up his arms.

"I'm shit, I know. Come give us a cuddle, then."

Harry falls into him so easily it nearly brings tears to Nick's eyes, which is approximately six thousand levels of ridiculous. Tucking his head into Nick's shoulder, Harry cradles his drink and pulls his knees up. They sit in silence until half of Harry's tea is gone and Nick's is probably verging on luke warm still sitting on the table. Finally, Harry pulls away to look at Nick, and for a moment Nick panics and wonders if Harry could hear the stuttering of his heart in their proximity.

"You're not shit, I just miss you. Miss being in London and all. Being home," Harry tells Nick in a low voice, his fingers twitching out a rhythm on his mug, rings clinking and drawing a lot more attention to Harry's fingers than Nick feels comfortable with. Nick opens his mouth to respond before he really knows what he wants to say, but he's saved when a soft knock sounds from the door. Harry lets out a long suffering sigh, burrowing his face into Nick's chest.

"Come in," Nick calls when it's apparent Harry isn't going to respond, and he isn't surprised when it opens to reveal an official looking man with a headset and clipboard. Harry manages to tear himself away from Nick, setting his mug down and looking up at the man expectantly.

"We've got the set ready. You and Niall are up for rehearsal."

Nodding in that slow way of his, Harry thanks him and stands up, only glancing back at Nick when he reaches the door. For a horrifying moment, Harry seems to be looking right into the depths of his soul, eyes sharp and focused. Nick takes a long breath, feeling cold without Harry's body heat pressing against his side. 

"Come back to me when you're finished, popstar. I've got a few months of missed texts to make up for in cuddles, haven't I?"

A small nod is all Harry sends him, but Nick will take it. As the door closes, Nick downs his entire mug of tea which he's quickly noticing is over steeped and definitely too cool to actually be considered palatable. His insides are a mess of tangled emotions which really, seems a bit unfair and completely, utterly uncalled for. There's no reason to be so dramatic when it's just Harry.

Just Harry who knows the difference between Nick's regular voice and his radio voice without hesitation. Harry who takes everything so calmly, with an oddly level head for a kid his age. Harry who once picked up the phone when Nick called at two in the morning, panicking because Puppy was ill and spent the rest of his night at Nick's flat, the two of them tucked close together on Nick's sofa with a whimpering jack russell snuggled between them. Harry who fits so seamlessly into Nick's life when he's in London it feels like he'd never left.

Harry who once admitted after a few glasses of expensive red wine that he wasn't really keen on having a serious relationship until things with the band slowed down.

At the time, Nick understood, _agreed_ even. Being away from home was probably hard enough without the added effort of keeping a partner happy. Even now, Nick's lovesick soul understands. He gets it. He does.

But that doesn't stop him from wanting Harry all to himself. It's a pathetically selfish thought, but Nick makes enough self depreciating jokes about his own massive ego to not be entirely surprised. It's not like he wants a marriage proposal (except maybe he does). Nick wants to take Harry on dates and make him laugh so loudly he squawks and he absolutely five hundred percent wants to kiss him until they're both breathless with it. Nick wants a lot of things, all of which he's pretty sure Harry can't give him.

Nick pulls out his phone to distract himself, debating whether he should instagram the table littered with two empty mugs and gossip magazines (he half heartedly wants to caption it "intellectual literature for the common radio DJ") when the door bursts open and Louis Tomlinson strides in with an impassive face and raised chin. 

"Can I help you?" Nick asks, schooling his expression into something he hopes comes off as aloof and unimpressed. Louis responds with a raised eyebrow before settling into the empty cushion beside Nick, throwing an arm around Nick's hunched shoulders. Which, um, what?

"No, really. To what do I owe the pleasure of your sparkling company?" Nick tries again, fighting the urge to shrug Louis' arm off. He's learned to not show discomfort or weakness around him. By now, Nick's pretty sure he's managed to earn Louis' respect and he's not willing to jeopardize that just because he's mildly confused. And by mildly confused, Nick means painfully, terrifyingly confused, because it's not really like Louis to spend much time with Nick, particularly when Harry isn't around.

"Am I not allowed to drop in and visit my pal, Nick Grimshaw?" Louis demands, voice even and calm as if it's perfectly normal for him to reach out to Nick with amicable friendliness. 

"I didn't say anything of the sort, Louis Tomlinson."

So Nick decides to play along. He wants to know why Louis is in his dressing room, semi cuddling - if in a laddy fashion - at that. Nick leans back, his neck cradled by Louis' forearm, and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Louis shrugs, dislodging Nick's head a bit.

"I was just wondering if you'd told him yet," he ponders and a sinking feeling settles low in Nick's abdomen.

"What're you on about?" he asks, wondering why his voice decides to waver when he clearly can't afford that kind of instability. Louis lets out a short laugh, crystal blue eyes lighting up in a majorly concerning way. There's a lump in Nick's throat but he fights to urge to swallow it. No discomfort. No weakness.

"Don't be a prat, Grimmy. Have you told Harry you're arse over tits for him?" and _honestly_ , why does Louis have to look so bloody delighted when Nick chokes on his own spit. 

"I don't--" Nick starts, but cuts off when Louis quirks a knowing eyebrow. "Am I that obvious?" he settles for instead.

"That's what the most obvious people always ask," Louis notes. "I'm not stupid. No one avoids Harry unless it's because they've suddenly found themselves going all heart eyes for him."

Breathing a sharp breath out of his nose, Nick takes a moment to think about it. He has to admit, Louis isn't exactly wrong. Nick can't imagine anyone actively ignoring Harry. Except himself, which makes him scowl. Harry probably deserves someone better than an idiot who goes running out at first sign of infatuation. 

"I haven't told him," Nick finally says. Louis makes a 'tut' noise that Nick chooses to ignore in favor of getting up and absently shifting through the variety of crisps displayed on the food table. He's not particularly hungry, but he can feel Louis' glare burning a hole into his shoulder.

"Why not?"

"Why _would_ I?" Nick turns to Louis, leveling him with an incredulous stare. "Harry's told me himself he isn't looking for a relationship. I'm not daft. And besides, who says he'd want me back anyway?"

Louis is quiet for a full 30 seconds and if Nick wasn't in the middle of a Harry Styles induced crisis, he'd make a snippy joke about it. Instead, he grabs a packet at random and sits back down. He pushes himself into the corner, as far away from Louis' sharp gaze as possible.

"You're full of shit," is all Louis says at last. Nick opens his bag of crisps and notices with a dull sense of disappointment that they're kettle chips. He sets it to the side and shifts to face Louis.

"Maybe I am, but maybe I'm not. I don't know why you seem so concerned about my feelings all of the sudden."

"I'm not," Louis snaps and suddenly his sharp features are arranged in a disdainful frown. "I'm concerned about Harry, who happens to be one of my best mates."

Nick manages a scoff.

"I can guarantee it would be best for all parties involved if I just kept my mouth shut for now. My feelings would drag Harry down, and that would drag _all_ of you down. Sorry, but I can't be responsible for that," Nick insists. "Trust me. Harry doesn't need my emotional baggage right now, not when he's at the peak of his career. Not when he'd only have to go through the trouble of letting me down easy."

Silence falls over the room, Nick's words hanging heavy around them. Louis' face is flickering between anger and sympathy which only serves to stress Nick out more. He wants to go back to light banter and jokes about their height difference and Louis calling him a dirty hipster with shit taste in music. Actually, Nick is fairly certain he'd rather be getting his legs waxed, or stuck on the tube for two hours, or roped into spending an entire pub crawl with a group of French boys (who despite their heritage, don't know the difference between a French kiss and eagerly shoving their tongue down Nick's throat).

"I don't really think he'd let you down, Nick," Louis finally says, suddenly more serious than Nick's ever seen him. He looks like he's choosing his words carefully, eyes downcast. "I saw him, y'know. When you weren't texting. You mean more to him than you give him credit for."

Nick can't help but huff out a humorless laugh.

"He's like that with all of his friends. One of his best qualities, honestly. Big heart and all."

"You're wrong," Louis insists quickly. "I mean, yeah, he has a big heart or whatever, but it's not the same."

"Isn't it?" and really, Nick is very, _very_ done with this conversation.

"It isn't," Louis presses. "Sorry, but you aren't the one who spends the better part of nine months with Harry. I know him differently than you."

Louis must see the way Nick bristles as he's quick to backtrack, holding his hands out, palms forward. Nick presses his lips together.

"I'm not saying I know him better. I'm only saying there are parts of him I get to see that you just... don't. All I'm trying to tell you is you should give Harry a chance to prove you wrong."

Closing his eyes, Nick doesn't respond. Of course Louis has a point, but that doesn't keep the fear from suffocating him. Hesitation grips Nick's shoulders and pushes them together until he's hunched over. Louis looks a bit like he's going to reach out a comforting hand, but he doesn't. Part of Nick, most of him really, is glad. There are enough things racing around Nick's mind without the added unsettling change in Louis' attitude.

"Listen, I need to go in case they need me for a rehearsal or something. Just think it over, yeah?"

"Sure, yeah," Nick manages. Louis stands quickly, pausing in the doorway. Nick feels a slight sense of deja vu from only twenty minutes ago when Harry had stopped and glanced back in the same unsure way Louis is now.

"If you finally decide to pull your head out of your arse, I'm only giving you this one warning. You don't _ever_ hurt him. With Liam's arms and my clever planning, we can and will take you down. I'm sure I can get Zayn and Niall to help as well. We like you, but Harry is our family."

When Louis finishes, he stalks from the room, door slamming behind him. A furl of warmth spreads through Nick's chest which, now that he thinks about it, probably isn't what Louis had intended. Still, he likes knowing Harry has people to look after him.

In the quiet of the room, Nick fiddles with his phone, pushing thoughts of Harry to the back of his mind. He instagrams the table like he'd meant to and pulls up his watsapp to text Matt like he'd promised he would. (Actually, he probably should have when his plane had landed a little over two hours ago, but what Finchy doesn't know won't hurt him.) Nick catches up on his emails, scrolls through his @replies on twitter, makes a mental note to call his mother when he gets back to London. Nick stalls.

After ten minutes, Nick finds himself so bored he debates napping right there on the sofa. It's absolutely comfortable enough and he's definitely still drowsy from the flight. Just as Nick makes up his mind and shuffles to lay down, the door opens and Harry's face peers into the room.

"Yes?" Nick asks, crossing his ankles. Harry sends him an apologetic glance.

"You're up. They said we'd go through your part for an hour or so and then you're free for the day," Harry says. Nick grumbles and gets up, running his fingers through his hair and cringing at how greasy it feels. No wonder Harry's got that funny expression on. Nick probably looks sloppier than he's been since uni.

When they're both in the hallway, Harry puts a hand on Nick's elbow, biting his lip like he wants to say something but isn't sure if he should. Nick's fingernails dig crescents into his palms with the effort it takes to not kiss him. Eventually, Harry lets go and steps back.

"We'll probably be here for a while after you leave," he starts. "Do you think I can come by your room when we're done? I'm pretty sure we're in the same hotel."

"Of course," Nick replies, without pause. He probably shouldn't encourage his raging hormones, but the thing is, he misses Harry. And anyway, Nick can't think of one person who would ever be able to say no to him when his eyes are so wide and green and completely _unfair_ thank you very much.

"Ace," Harry breaths happily, his face breaking into a relieved smile.

Nick mentally brains himself on a brick wall. He's so gone for Harry he might need a gurney before the end of the day.

\---

After spending an hour repeating the same ten minute segment, Nick gets into the sleek black car waiting for him and slides down the leather seat until his knees are bumping into the back of the passenger seat. The driver is the same man as before which makes Nick feel mildly self conscious. Here he is, thirty years old and having a crisis in the back of a scary chauffeur's car over a barely adult teen sensation. Speaking of which, was it entirely necessary for Harry to have been such a nuisance during rehearsal? He constantly made faces and poked Nick's sides to mess him up, grin taking over his features whenever Nick glared at him.

The radio is playing softly.

Nick doesn't say anything this time around, letting the garish 90's pop ring in his skull. The lights outside are blinding against the newfound darkness of the sky so Nick closes his eyes, nearly nodding off. Nick feels the car slow down and turn into a drive just as Patty Smyth begins crooning at him. Excellent.

_Now I don't wanna lose you, but I don't wanna use you, just to have somebody on my side._

When the car pulls up to the hotel, Nick has a minor panic attack wondering if he should tip the driver. He knows tipping is an integral part of American culture, but this isn't a cab and Nick is fairly sure One Direction's management is paying him handsomely to put up with a bratty radio DJ. Still, Nick pulls out a crisp American dollar with a ten on it, offering it to the driver who only spares him an annoyed glance before shaking his head.

"Oh, uh... wasn't sure," Nick grumbles, shoving the tenner in his jacket pocket.

"Your bags are in your room. A key card is waiting for you at the front desk. I'll be back to pick you up at eight AM tomorrow morning."

"Right," Nick manages, sliding out of the car with a flaming face, Patty fading as the door closes and Nick makes his way through the glass entrance into the hotel's ostentatious lobby. Places like this are famous for discretion regarding their guests, but Nick can see this particular hotel is definitely not known for their discreet decor.

There's a ten foot tall fountain in the front lobby for example.

Nick is quick to get his key card and to his room on the seventh floor. There's only one queen size bed under a framed abstract painting but the white sheets look soft and there's more downy pillows than Nick knows what to do with. As the driver had promised, Nick's weekender is sitting at the foot of the bed. Nick pulls out his toiletries, deciding to take advantage of the massive shower with a showerhead that, if mass produced at quarter the price could probably create world peace by the looks of it.

The water is just on the right side of scalding, flattening Nick's hair down over his face as he focuses on relaxing his shoulders. Patty Smyth is stuck in his head, which is annoying but he's dealt with worse. He doesn't feel nearly as tense as he had on the plane or in the studio. He supposes he was expecting Harry to yell at him or call out Nick's lingering glances and tell him their friendship just wasn't going to work. Nick knows it was stupid. Harry isn't like that.

The fatigue hits Nick as he's rinsing the last bits of conditioner from his hair. Jet lag isn't usually an issue when Nick travels to America, but now that Nick thinks about it, he hasn't properly slept in 38 hours or so. The warmth from the water sinks into his bones and only adds to his drowsiness, allowing Nick to finally exhale and center himself (despite the ballad currently floating around in his head repeating the line " _love just isn't enough_ " in dull waves. Whatever. Patty doesn't know anything. Nick is five hundred percent his love for this showerhead is enough to keep him happy for the rest of his life.

Nick manages to stand under the hot spray for another twenty minutes before he worries about actually falling asleep in the shower. He's all but a giant pruned form of a man as he shuts the water off and pulls back the shower curtain.

Narrowly avoiding slipping on the slick tile and braining himself on the marble counter, Nick wraps a giant fluffy towel around his waist and steps out of the bathroom to where he'd left his sleeping clothes on the bed. When the cloud of steam clears, Nick is left standing in the doorway gawking like an idiot at the desk where Harry's sitting in the office chair, mindlessly spinning with a pen balanced on the bridge of his nose. 

"How did you get in here?" Nick blurts, fingers clenching at the towel. His heart is racing, and quite frankly Nick is surprised he hadn't gone into cardiac arrest. Harry's boot clad foot catches on the carpet, lurching him to a stop. The pen falls into his lap.

"Suzanne at the front desk was very helpful. Her daughter is a Liam girl but I guess I'm her number three, whatever that means."

Nick knows exactly what that means but he only gives Harry a weak nod. 

"Right. Well, if you don't mind, I'm just gonna..." Nick trails off, waving a hand at his pajamas. Harry raises an eyebrow, face settling on an odd look before using his foot to spin the chair to face the window.

"Not sure why you're suddenly so shy," comes Harry's voice as Nick hurriedly pulls his flannel trousers on before letting the towel fall away. "'S not like I haven't seen it before."

He says it so casually, which Nick really doesn't appreciate. Nick freezes with his ratty t-shirt half way over his head. When the words catch up to him, Nick rushes to fit his arms through the sleeves, scrambling to push the hem over his stomach. When he looks up, Harry is staring at him.

"Excuse me, Harold, but I don't recall ever showing you my willy."

He tries to sound scandalized but he probably comes off as flustered as he feels. The thought of Harry knowing what Nick looks like when he's naked makes a small shiver run down his spine and he can't stop cataloging every party both he and Harry had attended where Nick might have been drunk enough to get undressed in a semi public place but nothing is coming to mind. There's laughter in Harry's eyes that sets Nick's insides on fire. Very unpleasant business, that.

"It was a few years ago, before we were proper friends. You invited me to your flat for a party and you made those caramel apple shots? You kept going at them after everyone else was passed out or on their way home so I helped you to bed," Harry's voice is brimming with amusement. Nick sinks into the bed, falling back with his legs dangling over the edge. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of," Harry offers as if that helps.

Nick does remember that party, now that he thinks about it. He'd been surprised that Harry even saw the text he'd sent, let alone showed up. He strode into Nick's flat like he belonged there with his cherub face and fluffy hair, charming everyone into instant companionship. Nick had always assumed it was Henry who had got him dressed and under his covers as he had so many times before, but really, he's not entirely surprised to learn it was actually Harry. Henry was never polite enough to leave a glass of water and box of paracetamol waiting on his bedside table. Harry is honestly too sweet for his own good, and if Nick remembers correctly, he'd been by far the most sober guest considering at that time he'd still been underage. Nick sits up suddenly, facing Harry with an incredulous gasp.

"Do you mean to tell me I unknowingly flashed my bits to a minor?" he all but screeches. Harry throws back his head to let out a loud cackling bubble of laughter. When he focuses back on Nick, his hair has fallen a bit in his face and his cheeks are tinged a disarming shade of pink.

"I suppose so. Guess it's a good thing I didn't ring the police. 'Oh, Mr. Officer, it was awful! I've wanted his dick since I was fifteen, but I never wanted it this way! My poor innocent eyes!" Harry's giggles die out but his smile doesn't fade. Nick isn't sure if he's still actually awake, with the ringing in his ears. Since he was fifteen? _What?_

Nick absolutely definitely probably fell asleep in the shower and hit his head on the edge of the bathtub and is currently bleeding out on the pristine white tile of the bathroom floor.

"What?" Nick chokes out.

Harry furrows his brow.

"What?" he counters.

"Did you just-- since you were _fifteen_?"

Harry shrugs like he isn't bothered and doesn't let up on the confused expression. Nick is quite suddenly struck with the image of a much younger Harry in his childhood bed with a hand down his pants and Nick's name falling from his lips which, okay. Nick lays down again, head thunking back down on the soft bedding, trying to shake the picture from his mind. For one, it's about six thousand levels of inappropriate, and secondly, his sleeping pants aren't exactly lose enough to cover an ill timed erection.

"Thought you knew? That's why I was so obsessed with hanging out with you, in the beginning. Fancied you loads when I was younger," Harry pauses as if he's only just realized what he's saying. "Sorry, is that weird?"

"No," Nick says, voice strained with the effort to not say something really idiotic like _what do you mean 'when you were younger'_ or _oh that's convenient because I absolutely fancy you too_. "Just didn't realize."

"Oh," Harry mumbles. "Dunno why, not like I was subtle or anything," he lets out a soft laugh, face a delicate shade of pink. He's not embarrassed, Harry rarely is, but he does have a shy smile gracing his lips. It makes Nick's chest flutter.

"I wish I'd known," Nick finds himself saying. Harry's bright eyes glance up from under a frame of dark lashes, looking entirely too cheeky for Nick's liking.

"What would you have done, if you'd known?"

Nick doesn't sputter, but it's a close thing. What _would_ he have done? Back then, Nick hadn't known he'd eventually develop feelings for Harry. Not to mention just how young and marginally innocent he had been. Didn't even drink before his 18th birthday (although Nick distinctly remembers Harry stealing sips from his drinks if they were colored brightly enough). Then again, if Nick had even the slightest notion that Harry was interested... it's not like he'd have said no. Nobody said no to Harry.

"Dunno, I'd probably make you ask for it," Nick says before he can think better of it. Harry's grin all but doubles in size, eyebrows rising gleefully. Nick can feel a prickle of blush crawling over his cheeks and down to his neck so he pulls his gaze away, instead eyeing at the ceiling. He doesn't hear Harry get up, but the next thing he knows, there's a dip in the bed and Harry's warmth spreads through Nick's side. Despite himself, Nick curls in closer to the contact, heart beating unevenly as Harry pulls himself up to lean over him. The corners of his lips are turned up coyly, one hand supporting his chin and the other resting on Nick's chest.

"And what if I asked for it now, hm?"

It's then that Nick sputters, carefully disguising his lack of composure with a cough. Harry appears positively delighted, which doesn't really help Nick in his fight to appear casual. It's just, Harry keeps biting his bottom lip, eyes drawn to Nick's own (slightly trembling) mouth. Nick is very sure that if they aren't careful, he'll do something stupid. Like kiss Harry.

So, naturally, that's what he does.

Sort of.

The thing is, Harry moves in as Nick does, so they both end up clacking teeth and missing a bit. Nick feels Harry's grin against cheek before he pulls away, locking eyes with Nick before letting out an honest to god giggle. Jesus. Nick's just tried to kiss Harry and his pulse is making his head pound with the sudden blood rush and all Harry can do is giggle. With a determined frown, Nick gets a hand on the back of Harry's neck, thumb grazing his hairline, and tries again. Harry goes easily, lips finally catching Nick's in a proper kiss. Fingers tangle in the front of Nick's t-shirt, stretching the fabric as Harry leans into him and kisses Nick slow and sweet. His mouth is incredible, not that Nick is particularly surprised. He is, however, a little light headed and a lot confused about how he got here, lying flat on his back while a very warm and deliciously heavy Harry flicks his tongue over Nick's lips in a way that makes both of their toes curl.

When Nick finally pulls away, it's with a gasp. Harry chases after him for a second before ducking down and choosing to press wet kisses along Nick's jaw instead. Hesitantly, Nick drags his hand up into Harry's hair, ruffling up the curls and using a gentle grip to tug. The motion pulls a guttural groan out of Harry, which, okay, Nick had _guessed_ Harry would like that, but nothing could prepare him for _this_. Harry throws a leg over Nick's lap, making sure they're pressed together from head to toe while he makes work of sucking a bruise into the skin just below Nick's collarbone. In a brief moment of clarity, Nick prays the shirt he'll be wearing tomorrow will cover the inevitable mark that will be there in the morning. As it is, Harry's careful nibbles have left behind an angry red splotch that he beams proudly at when he pulls away. He looks bloody smug, so Nick drags him up by his hair until they're kissing again, this time with a particular heat behind their movements.

Harry pulls away breathless, making sloppy work of getting Nick's shirt off. They manage, just barely and not without Nick nearly giving Harry a black eye, but soon they're both free of their tops. Their skin is hot where they touch, the chill of the hotel room lost in their heated touches.

After that, Harry's lips are everywhere, dragging along Nick's quaking muscles. Harry's mouth is sinful as it glides over Nick's chest down to his belly. His eyes are dark ringed with emerald as they glance up at Nick, his hair tickling around his stomach and begging to be properly tugged. Wasting no time, Nick uses his grip in the soft waves of Harry's hair to guide him down to where Nick's half hard, doing his very best not to buck up at the sound Harry makes.

"Eager, much?" Harry mumbles, and then his long fingers are slipping under Nick's trousers and dragging them down. A strangled groan escapes Nick's mouth as his head falls back against the pillow. He's very sure no one has ever had the ability to get him this worked up this quickly but it's tough to tell. No one else was Harry bleeding Styles.

Jesus.

Harry takes a moment to nibble at the flesh of Nick's hips before wrapping his hand around the base of his dick. _Jesus._ Nick absolutely underestimated how excellent Harry's hands are. His palm is wide as it presses his cock against his belly, knuckles digging gently into the trembling skin there. It's a miracle Nick hasn't passed out. With a soft and thoughtful hum, Harry starts to move, careful eyes flickering between his movements and Nick's face which is probably a horrific shade of crimson.

Nick cannot be held responsible for the gasp he lets out when Harry takes the tip into his mouth. There isn't any hesitation in the way Harry uses his lips to push the foreskin down so he can form a steady suction on the head. Nick's fingertips dig into Harry's scalp, his legs moving to squeeze Harry's hips with his knees. One of Harry's thumbs dig into Nick's inner thigh as he takes more into the warm wetness of his mouth, carefully pacing himself with that little crease between his brow like he's focusing all of his attention on making Nick feel good. Nick feels better than good, really.

Preferably, Nick doesn't like to admit to himself that he's fantasized about Harry like this. Sure, Harry's stupid sweaty face, eyes alight with the high of a good performance, has crossed his mind while he's having a quick wank in the shower before work, but it's not like it's entirely his fault. Harry looks like a wet dream on stage, and Nick is only human. Really though, Nick has spent the past few months sternly insisting that he most certainly has _not_ thought about Harry's mouth on him.

Now that it's happening, Nick knows he's being ruined for anyone else. Harry's tongue is ridiculous, making Nick's breath tremble and the muscles in his thighs to twitch.

"Harry," Nick chokes out. Harry doesn't pull off, instead stilling his bobbing head and picking up the slack with the hand he has wrapped around the base. His eyes are so, so dark, his shoulder shifting with the way his fist keeps meeting his lips. Nick very nearly forgets what he was going to say. Harry pulls off for a moment, staring Nick down from where his face is framed by Nick's legs. The sight alone has Nick gasping for breath.

"Good?" Harry asks, and of course his voice is low and rough. 

Nick makes an embarrassingly inhuman sound low in his throat, untangling a hand from Harry's hair to cover his face with a sweaty palm. 

"You're joking, right?" he says, and his voice cracks in a way that he'd rather not admit. The crease between Harry's eyebrows gets deeper and he pulls away even further, which, _no_. 

"What do you mean? I'm not joking, Nick, this is serious business."

He says it so seriously that Nick really can't stop the bubble of laughter that rises from his chest. Harry lets out a petulant huff and sits back on his heels. God, he looks incredible like that, abs heaving a little with his heavy breaths and jeans straining around his hips where he's trapped behind the unforgiving denim. Nick blindly reaches for the button, tugging at it with sex stupid fingers and not really getting anywhere with it. 

"C'mon Nick, I'm serious," Harry mumbles, voice a little slurred and eyes going glassy as he gazes down at Nick's fingers where they fumble with the zip and the back of his hand teases against the hardness there.

"So am I," Nick replies, "Now help me get you out of these."

A moment passes where Harry can only stare at Nick, and in that moment Nick worries that maybe he was reading something wrong. What if Harry was only taking pity on Nick, who is so stupidly obvious about his feelings and of fucking _course_ Harry would know. Just one sloppy blowjob to get Nick off his case. A little favor for being a good friend but sorry, this is where our road ends.

And then Harry is clambering off the bed, peeling his skinny jeans to his ankles and hobbling over on one foot trying to get them off. 

So, maybe he was reading it right then. Nick inhales shakily, sitting up and managing to remove his own trousers. He ignores the nagging insecurity settling under his skin in favor of reaching out and tugging Harry by the elastic of his pants closer to the bed. Harry goes, hips first, a crooked smile gracing his lips.

"These too, popstar," Nick all but growls, hungry eyes tracking the bobble of Harry's throat and the hurried movements of him undressing. It isn't long before Harry gets back in bed, stretching out alongside Nick so they're on their sides facing each other. A bit of his long hair tickles the end of Nick's nose, but he's so lovely with his face soft and legs sliding against Nick's until they're tangled together. It's Harry who leans forward, lips brushing against Nick's before they're all but devouring each other. 

Harry is very bitey, teeth nipping at Nick's bottom lip and pulling, a happy noise falling from his mouth before he lets go and goes back in for another kiss. He takes and Nick gives. It's addicting, really, just laying on top of the stupidly expensive duvet, touching everywhere and exploring each other's mouths. If it weren't for the insistent way Harry starts rolling his hips, Nick lets himself believe they could stay like this all night.

"You should fuck me," Harry says when they manage to pull away for more than a few seconds. Their breathing is heavy where it mingles between their faces and Nick has to blink at Harry several times before he realizes what's happening. Between them, his cock jumps and well, okay his body is definitely on board with that idea.

"Are you sure?" is all Nick can ask, hands skimming the soft pudge of Harry's hips and over the top of his thighs. Harry whines and buries his face into the pillow, body edging even closer to Nick. Face still tucked away, Harry nods, wrapping his leg high over Nick's so Nick's hand falls to the soft swell of his arse. 

Without another thought, Nick aligns their hips, rocking against Harry and nosing at his cheek until they can kiss again.

"Do you have any lube? And a condom, probably."

Harry nods into the pillow again before somehow untangling himself from Nick. He reaches over the side of the bed to where his jeans are piled and digs through one of the back pockets, returning with a triumphant grin, two travel packets of lube and a condom in hand.

"Did you come here with the intention of getting in my pants, Styles?" Nick can't help but tease, helping Harry steady himself as he straddles Nick's waist. Harry let's out a soft laugh, hair falling into his eyes as he tosses the condom off to Nick's side and immediately starts ripping open the first packet of lube. His cock rests heavy against Nick's belly, flushed and beautiful and honestly, probably the best looking dick Nick has ever seen. His head is swimming with the thoughts of what he could do with Harry, eyes fluttering with want as he pictures himself between Harry's legs, scruff scraping against the soft skin of Harry's thighs, Harry with his hands tucked behind his knees, holding himself open and still as Nick takes him apart with his mouth. It's a heady image, but it's nothing compared to the sight before him now.

Harry wastes no time slicking up his fingers before he's leaning on his clean hand over Nick, his breath fanning over Nick's face as he reaches behind himself and whines when his fingers find his rim. With his heart beating double time, Nick does his best to crane his neck and press short damp kisses along Harry's cheeks, hands kneading at the flesh of Harry's hips and sides. Nick can feel the moment Harry begins to open himself up, the muscles in his arms straining and spine stiffening as he attempts to relax around his finger. Nick places one last peck to the tip of Harry's nose before letting his hands wander. One arm wraps securely around Harry's waist, holding him close, while the other works it's way back into Harry's hair, soothing him as he works his way up to two fingers. Harry is rocking above him slightly, his body wriggling against Nick in a way that has both of them letting out quiet groans into each other's necks. It's intoxicating, the hot air surrounding them as they move together slow and languid, breaths hitching. 

Finally, Harry works in a third finger, a low guttural noise escaping him at the stretch. 

"Alright?" Nick tries. Above him, Harry shivers and okay, maybe murmuring the word into his ear was foul play but Nick can't get enough of how wrecked this boy is already. He nips at the skin just below Harry's jawline, careful not to leave a lasting mark, and the effect is stunning. Harry's elbow gives into his weight, chest falling into Nick's in a slightly clumsy rush but it's okay because now they're touching everywhere and Nick can feel the flex of Harry's shoulder as he works his fingers faster until he exhales a sharp breath and pulls them out. He fumbles around the bed for a moment, whining until he finds the unopened lube and condom, shoving it at Nick.

"M'ready," is all he says, voice deeper than Nick has ever heard it and there's no way Nick is going to argue. He manages to get the foil condom wrapper open, fingers shaking slightly while Harry's hips work slow and dirty against his. He holds it for a moment, caught up in the way Harry is pressing dry kisses along his collarbone, before he nudges at Harry's shoulder.

"You're a menace," Nick grits out, forcing his hips still as he reaches between them and rolls the condom on, and it's just enough pressure to make him groan. Harry wastes no time in finding the lube, slicking the length of Nick's cock and wiping his hand on Nick's thigh which should be gross, but honestly Nick is lucky to still be breathing at the moment. 

With one last lingering kiss, Harry pulls back and centers himself over Nick, one hand reached behind him for aim and then he's sinking down and further down until all Nick can feel, all he can think about is the tight heat of Harry's arse and the way Harry is sitting up straight, torso long and towering over Nick like some kind of sex god. 

Harry stills when he's fully seated in Nick's lap. For a moment, they're quiet, Harry with his brows furrowed as he adjusts and Nick catching his breath because he's still not entirely caught up with what's happening. Harry is tight and hot around him, the muscles of his legs flexing around Nick's hips and knees digging into his ribs. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Harry breaths after a moment. His hair is falling in his face so Nick reaches both of his hands up to card it back off of Harry's forehead. Face flushed and lips parted, Harry lets out a small whine and gives Nick a weak smile. 

"You sure you're alright?" Nick asks again, his voice strained with the effort it's taking not to fuck up into him, but Harry is quick to nod and roll his hips. Nick trails his fingertips across Harry's cheeks and down until his thumbs are pressing into each swallow on his collarbone, falling further until he can grab Harry's hips and help him as he shifts his hips higher, rising up before pushing back down. He takes Nick in so well, so eager as he builds up a shaky rhythm, fucking himself until he's panting and making low sounds low in his throat with every movement.

"Feels good. Full," he slurs. His voice is like a direct line to Nick's cock, making him shiver all over and push up to meet Harry's next thrust. He must find Harry's prostate in the process, because the next thing Nick knows Harry is falling into him again, face burying into the nape of his neck and damp lips pressing into the sensitive skin there. "There, _there_ , Nick."

"Yeah," is all Nick can get out before he wraps his arms securely around Harry's middle and drives his hips up to pick up Harry's slack. To be completely honest, he's not giving much effort into aiming, but he must be doing something right. Harry bears down on him and lifts his head enough to messily press his lips to Nick's. It's a rough kiss, teeth pulling on lips and tongues pushing against each other. It's perfect.

"Please, harder," Harry begs, and Nick couldn't say no even if he wanted to. He definitely doesn't want to say no. In fact, that sounds like a pretty good plan to him. Planting his feet to get better leverage, Nick works his hips harder, the muscles in his abdomen burning with the effort. Harry's cock is trapped between them, heavy where it drags against Nick's belly, the head catching on Nick's bellybutton with every thrust which only makes both of them groan.

Nick is getting dizzy, his legs shaking and head swimming as he pounds into Harry. He's not being as gentle as he'd imagined he would be with Harry and there's a raw need crawling from his chest that forces his hips to drive faster and his hands to clutch tighter to the meat of Harry's hips. He's frantic, impossibly hazy with the need to come, the need to make Harry come. Next time, if there is one (and God only knows Nick hopes there is), he'll take his time, pull Harry apart until he's completely undone before putting him back together again.

"Close," Harry rasps into Nick's shoulder. 

"Already, Popstar?" Nick lets out a breathy laugh, making some of the hair falling in his face twitch. Harry pulls himself up enough to look at Nick and he's wearing one of his offended faces, eyes sparkling and lips turned into a pout.

"Hey," he whines. "This is a compliment, okay? I have excellent stamina."

Nick hides his smile by biting at Harry's shoulder. He can feel his own release building, coiling tight in his stomach. He sucks on the reddening mark he's left on Harry's collar, sweaty palms sliding from Harry's hips to the crease where his torso meets his thighs, fingers digging into the flesh and the tip of his thumbs brushing against the base of Harry's dick.

Harry arches his back when he comes, a choked moan slipping past his lips as he rides out the high. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes glossy and never leaving Nick's gaze. Their stomachs are sticky when Harry slumps completely over Nick. He hums happily, nuzzling into Nick's cheek and pressing tiny kisses to his jaw.

"Come on," Harry urges, voice cracking as he makes an aborted attempt to roll his hips down, hissing with the pressure. Nick doesn't waste any time in burying himself deep in Harry's arse, dick twitching as he comes. He doesn't black out but it's a close thing, the clench of Harry around him feels like a vice, drawing everything out of him until all he can do is let out a vaguely embarrassing whimper and hold Harry close. As he shivers through the aftershocks, Harry giggles into his face. 

For a few moments they lay there on the bed, hot and sticky and pretty disgusting actually. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick realizes he's going to need another shower before he'll be able to fall asleep, but he's also pretty sure he can convince Harry to join him if he waxes poetic about the shower head. Eventually, Harry rolls to the side and helps Nick with the condom, tying it off and tossing in the general direction of the bin. Looking down at his own chest, Harry frowns at the mess before directing another lethal pout in Nick's direction.

"Gross," he says. Nick grins and tugs Harry closer, pressing a firm kiss to Harry's bottom lip that's stuck out. Harry smiles into it, hand cradling the back of Nick's neck. The moment feels too short, but Nick holds onto it with everything he's got before Harry pulls away. "Shower?"

"Give me a minute, Styles. I'm an old man, I need a bit of a rest first," Nick replies. "I'll have you know m'legs are actual noodles right now."

Harry aims a light punch to Nick's shoulder before he slides out of bed and suddenly there's too much space between them. Nick swallows and watches him with heavy eyes, using every once of self control he's got to not reach out and pull Harry back down. 

"Shower," Harry says again, "I'll carry you if I have to."

Somehow Nick manages to push himself up into sitting position. He lifts his arm up and keeps his hand limp, waving it about until Harry takes it with a soft smile and gently tugs. Nick does most of the work but he pulls himself up next to Harry and makes a point to keep their hands linked, fingers lacing together. Harry doesn't seem to mind, leaning into Nick's side and running his free hand over Nick's bare hip.

The bathroom still feels damp. Harry steps into the shower immediately, turning the hot water on full blast even though the curtain is still open. Nick can't keep the fond look off of his face. It's impossible when Harry sends him a goofy smile and crooks his index finger, beckoning him closer. Nick gathers a few fresh towels and places them on the sink counter but he catches sight of himself in the mirror before he can turn away. 

Jesus, he looks awful. His half dried hair is flattened on one side of his head, the other sticking up at odd angles that frankly, defy physics. Honestly, Harry destroyed him and it couldn't be more obvious if he were wearing a shirt with bold neon letters reading "Harry Styles' Bitch". He might as well get a tramp stamp of Harry's face on his lower back with the flush that's creeping over his face at the thought of being Harry's. 

Somehow he isn't bothered at all.

The shower is blisteringly hot when he gets in and he sends Harry a dirty look but makes no move to adjust the temperature. Harry only responds with a kiss, pressing himself into the cold tile and dragging Nick along with him, hands curling around Nick's elbows.

"Y'know, I definitely thought you would be more talkative in bed," Harry starts, light and casual. Nick's heart skips a few beats as he watches Harry's hair flatten with the weight of the water. In all fairness, Nick can be quite talkative during sex, depending on the mood. 

"So you've thought about it. Us. At least, like, in a sexual sense I guess."

Brilliant, Grimshaw. Reeling them in like a pro.

"I mean, yeah," Harry says, as if it were obvious. "To be honest, I figured you knew and like, stopped talking to me because you didn't want to, I dunno, like outright reject me or something."

Nick doesn't have time to stop the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. It edges on hysterical and the irony is far from lost on him. He tips his head back and almost sputters with a face full of water which shuts him up pretty quickly. Shaking his head and wiping his eyes, Nick steps in close to Harry, chest to chest. He should feel more awkward being naked than he is, their skin sliding together with comfortable ease and it feels safe. It feels like wrapping up in an obnoxiously fuzzy blanket with a glass of delicious wine.

Harry's eyes are so bright under the harsh lights, boring into Nick with a hint of vulnerability mixed in with the vivid green. There's a question in his expression and god, when did the roles suddenly reverse? When did Harry become the uncertain one?

"You're a bloody idiot," Nick tells him. "Even Tomlinson noticed you've got me wrapped around your little finger but you're telling me you thought I wouldn't want you back? Are you completely daft? Don't tell me you actually thought I wouldn't jump at the chance to be with you."

Harry shrugs, dimples tucking shyly into his cheeks as his fingers trail over Nick's wrists. His gaze shifts and trains on the shower curtain behind Nick. Part of Nick wants to trap him in another kiss, if only to keep his attention, but he waits Harry out and pointedly ignores the steady thrum of too hot water on his back and shoulders.

"I dunno," Harry admits at last, voice almost lost in the echo. "It's not just a sex thing with you. Like, that was amazing and I absolutely want to do it again if you do, but it's more than that. You're really important to me. You're, like... okay this sounds stupid but you're my anchor."

"I'm your anchor," Nick repeats dumbly. Harry's fingers find the small tattoo on Nick's wrist, the anchor, and he presses down on it with his thumb. It makes Nick's chest feel two sizes too small for his lungs. He can't think of a proper response, but he hums low in his throat and kisses the side of Harry's face. Small, tickling kisses that pull a warm smile from Harry in while his own hand circles around Harry's wrist, the one adorned with a larger and more elaborate anchor.

"I keep thinking this isn't real," Harry murmurs. 

"To be honest, me too."

Harry chuckles against Nick's lips. They stand wrapped up in each other while the water steams around them and reddens their skin. There isn't much effort made to properly clean themselves, but eventually Harry's hands trail over their stomachs and between his own thighs before turning the water off.

Harry stops at the foot of the bed, pulling his bottom lip between two fingers and glancing up at Nick. It takes a moment before Nick realizes, _Harry doesn't know if he's allowed to stay._ The thought is so ridiculous Nick forgets to laugh, but he manages to spare Harry a funny face before he tugs them both down into the rumpled sheets. 

"Goof," he whispers into Harry's neck, arranging Harry's limbs until their legs are tangled together and they're sharing a pillow, faces centimeters apart. Nick manages to find the duvet somewhere on the floor beside him, pulling it over them until Harry is properly tucked in, solid against Nick. Normally, Nick hates cuddling for too long, especially under the covers where heat gets trapped and keeps him awake for hours, but here with Harry Nick nuzzles closer, noses brushing and warmth settling into his bones. 

"We should probably, like... actually talk about this tomorrow," Harry tells him, palms smoothing over Nick's hip. Nick scrunches his nose but he can't disagree. 

"Tomorrow," he agrees. "But I... I'm pretty sure we're on the same page?"

Harry sends Nick a beaming smile, legs tightening until their knees are squeezed together almost painfully. Neither of them make any motions to move. Nick lets out a slow breath through his nose before speaking again.

"Wake me up if you get out of bed, alright? Don't wanna wake up and have you not be there."

"Of course."

\---

Nick wakes up to Harry's long fingers prodding his spine, the ends of his hair tickling Nick's cheeks.

"Wake up," Harry whispers, voice raspy with sleep. Nick groans and stuffs his face into the pillow. Fucking jet lag.

"What time is it?" Nick tries to ask, but it comes out more like "whatimzit". There's a pause as Harry gropes around for his phone.

"Seven," Harry says, "Car leaves at eight."

Nick lets out a huff. For someone who wakes up at five every morning, he feels like a zombie as he pushes himself up and narrowly avoids knocking heads with Harry. He blearily takes in the room, his glasses are on the bedside table and Nick doesn't remember setting them there, but he doesn't argue as he slips them on and ruffles a hand through his hair in attempt to make it look semi normal. 

"Your car or my car?" he finally asks. Harry picks at the sheets and shrugs, bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

"Um, both, actually," Harry admits. "I called when I woke up and had them cancel my car, just told them I'll take yours. There aren't any fans outside so it shouldn't be a problem getting out."

Nick takes Harry's hands in his own and sends him a smile. 

"Good," he assures Harry. "More time I get to spend with you before I'm off."

And then Nick leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Harry's lips, hand wrapping around the side of his neck while the other holds him up. Normally, Nick would worry about morning breath and bags under his eyes but he can't bring himself to care as Harry sighs into the kiss, shoulders relaxing and body leaning in so their legs brush together.

"So you haven't, like, changed your mind?" Harry wonders when they pull away. Nick reels for a minute, trying to figure out when Harry was suddenly the one pining over _him_. He thinks back to the night before in the shower. Honestly if he'd just known, they could have worked something out so much sooner. So many nights of staring at his phone with an open one sided conversation, Harry's texts glaring at him while Nick attempted to pull his head out of his arse and failed. Miserably.

"You have no idea, do you," Nick laughs against Harry's cheek. "Was completely mad for you. _Am._ But I just kept thinking about that night you told me you didn't want anything with anyone, and I just figured if you weren't ready for anything there wasn't any point in trying to pressure you to, like, tie yourself down with anyone. Let alone me. 'M still a bit hung up on that bit. What did you say I was again? Your anchor? I like the sound of that."

Harry groans and shakes his head, cheeks warming under Nick's touch. 

"Don't make fun of me," he mumbles, but underneath the whining he sounds pleased, the way he always does when Nick teases him. "I was bearing my soul to you."

"And now I'm bearing my soul to you, popstar. I am officially madly, deeply, in crush with you. Is that a thing? In crush? It should be. Because I quite fancy you, and if I thought my crush on you was massive before it's only worse now that I know how well you snog," Nick lets a smug smile grace his face as Harry pushes him back down into the bed. 

"What did you mean by me not being ready?" Harry questions after a moment. "I mean, I remember saying I didn't want a relationship but that was ages ago."

Nick shrugs into the sheets. 

"Why didn't you ever tell me you liked me?" he counters. Harry looks thoughtful for a moment before he returns the shrug and they leave it at that. Eventually, Nick sits up again, glancing at the bedside clock to see that they have twenty minutes to get ready. He leaves Harry with one last peck before going to his bag to pick out something to wear to the studio. Harry pulls on his jeans from the night before but reaches around Nick to steal his spare shirt, a dark blue flannel that Nick doesn't remember packing but honestly, might have been in his bag before he packed. 

"So," Harry starts as he buttons the bottom half of the shirt and leaves the top to billow out around the swallows. "Does this mean, like. Ok, I guess I should just ask you, make it proper. Will you be my boyfriend?"

He doesn't shy around the word like Nick had half guessed he might, which fills him to the brim with a light bubbly feeling he can't tame. 

"Yeah, I suppose," he responds, and when their eyes meet, Harry's are dancing with so much emotion Nick has to look away. He clears his throat and pulls a stretched white tee over his head. 

"I'll probably have to talk to management before we say anything, but... I've been talking to them a lot about properly coming out. Like, seeing all those fans who are so proud of who they are and everything, like. I've never wanted to hide who I am, I just got really good at saying just the right thing, y'know?" Harry sits on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and he won't look up at Nick, but Nick can see the tug of a grin at the corners of Harry's mouth. Nick remembers Harry once admitting to him that he wasn't really sure what to think of his own sexuality, that he hadn't ever thought about it much until nearly every young girl on the planet was suddenly very concerned over the matter. Nick hadn't put much thought into it either, really. Harry was Harry, and that was always enough for Nick, whether that meant he was straight or wavy. 

"From personal experience, it feels really good. It's not always sunshine and rainbows, but it's so much better than having to watch what you say and who you say it to," Nick tells him, and Harry reaches out for him, holds him by the belt loops on his jeans and leans into Nick's hands when he goes to play with Harry's curls. Nick wants to stay in this moment for forever, his fingers threaded through Harry's hair while Harry clings on, face open and happy and all for Nick. 

The moment is broken when Harry's phone rings, signalling their car. It hits him then that Harry couldn't have had a charger on him when he got there, and by all means his phone should be a useless pile of plastic by now. He raises an eyebrow in Harry's direction.

"Does your phone have a magical battery that I need to know about? I don't remember you plugging it in."

"I had Louis bring me a charger after you fell asleep," he explains. "Didn't feel like getting up."

And later, when Nick actually manages to look at his own phone, there are a few messages from Louis waiting for him. Four thumbs up emojis, a crude series of emojis that Nick scoffs at, and then a simple _don't fuck it up grimshaw we're rooting for you_. 

When they make it out to the car, Nick praises the stupidly posh hotel for living up to their reputation of discretion. There isn't one fan in sight as Harry slides across the backseat and Nick follows. Once Nick buckles, he notices Harry leaned forward towards the partition, talking to the driver from yesterday. Nick almost reaches out to tell Harry not to bother, Nick already mucked up the first impression yesterday, but he notices the smile gracing Scary Diver's face and the twinkle in his eye as he nods to whatever Harry's just said.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Styles," he says in that distinct gruff voice, but instead of sounding annoyed he sound _chuffed_. Nick rolls his eyes and slumps in his seat. He should have guessed, honestly. 

The radio is playing, and Nick can't even find it in himself to be surprised at the song drifting through the speakers. American radio is absolute shit. Same ten songs shuffled every single hour, wash, rinse, and repeat.

_Yes, I may have hurt you, but I did not desert you._

Harry frowns when he recognizes the song, leaning his shoulder into Nick's as they make their way through Los Angeles. Their fingers tangle loosely between them, Harry's warm palm pressing into the back of Nick's own hand. Nick watches Harry's profile, humming a little under his breath along to his dear friend, Patty Smyth.

"This song is so sad," Harry says. Nick presses a tiny kiss to the crown of Harry's curls to hide his smile. It _is_ a sad song. A ridiculous song, really. 

_Maybe I just want to have it all._

Closing his eyes, Nick lets the rumble of the car lull them into silence, song drowning in the city traffic outside their window and Harry's soft breaths. In the privacy of his own head, Nick blocks out the angsty tune wafting through the speakers. He imagines himself a better song, something as lovely as the slope of Harry's nose as he daydreams against Nick's shoulder. Harry's sat right beside him, calm and still a bit sleepy as he crowds himself into Nick's side, and Nick knows he's got all he's ever going to need.

**Author's Note:**

> [visit me](http://gayclubanthem.tumblr.com) :)


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